


Feels Like Flying

by speccygeekgrrl



Category: Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: I really like extended metaphors, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-13
Updated: 2014-06-13
Packaged: 2018-02-04 13:06:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1780189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/speccygeekgrrl/pseuds/speccygeekgrrl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It feels like flying, which is the highest compliment any pilot can give. It feels like flying, but that means different things to everyone who says it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Feels Like Flying

It feels like flying, which is the highest compliment any pilot can give. It feels like flying, but that means different things to everyone who says it.

When Han says it feels like flying, he means it feels natural, thrilling, a little frantic. It means calculations on the fly, constant tiny adjustments that he makes without thinking about them, assessing and reacting in the same synaptic firing. It means going faster and going and going until there's nothing left to fuel him, until he's spent and wrung out and safely docked in harbor. Flying is something that Han does with his whole being, trusting his instincts to pull the most ridiculous stunts and come through alive, and when he says it feels like flying, that means that for a moment he found himself completely consumed by motion and let himself go with it.

When Luke says it feels like flying, though, he still means it feels natural, but also precise. He trusts his instincts much like Han does, but his instincts are backed by the Force, and even in the way he flies he can feel the power of the universe guiding his hands. When Luke says it feels like flying, he means that he feels life rushing through him, attuning him, he means that he knows that his most subtle movements are just what he needs to do.

It shows in how they come together. Han is brash and cocky right up until Luke sticks his tongue in his mouth and then he gives over the bravado for pure action/reaction, finely attuned to Luke's responses, finding and exploiting sensitive spots with the slightest catch of breath or shiver to clue him in to where to focus. For Luke's part, it's all instinct, no experience to guide him except how the Force in him interacts with the spark of power Han won't admit to, the feel of the life in him surging when Luke kisses his neck, the hinge of his jaw, swipes his tongue across the scar that just makes Han look like the roguish rake he is. 

They explore each other thoroughly, delighted over and over again by tiny discoveries; Han can't stop grinning when he realizes that Luke's knees are ticklish, and then he can't stop laughing when Luke makes the same realization about his inner thighs, even if he swats at the young Jedi to make him quit it. Luke pushes his advantage as far as he can, but he has an idea as to what he wants, and it's all too easy to get Han to give it to him: wrapping himself around Luke's back and working him open deftly, both of them groaning with how right it feels when Han claims him in one slow thrust. Between Han's instincts and Luke's they're moving in unison almost from the outset, climbing up to the peak with the assurance of seasoned lovers even though it's the first time they've touched in this way. Han's hand is snug around Luke's cock with almost the same pressure of Luke's body around Han's cock, urging each other into bliss with unexpected precision.

When they're breathing together in the slow comedown, Han's breath stirring the shaggy hair at the nape of Luke's neck, his hand sliding slow and sure along Luke's side from armpit to knee, gentling him through the last shivers of sensation, and Luke laughs quietly, and Han asks "what?" and Luke says "doing that feels like flying," they mean slightly different things, but there's also an underlying unity of meaning: they may approach it differently, but each of them loves to fly, feels whole in the cockpit with the controls under his hands, revels in his skill at such a thrilling endeavor as breaking free from gravity.

They both love to fly, and they both love to fly apart under each other's hands, breaking into pieces but held together by love and instinct and the Force calling out to itself through them until they reassemble with each other's names melting into their kisses. Han knows Luke's body with the same assurance that he knows the helm of the Millennium Falcon, knows just what to touch to get him to correct course, fly a little more true. And Luke knows Han's body the way he knows life itself, instinctive but amassing direct knowledge with every encounter, directing the energy of their paired forms through each other, mingling their essences on the most essential level he knows how.


End file.
